


Tutorial: How to Paint Your Lover

by orphan_account



Category: Metal Gear
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-30
Updated: 2014-04-30
Packaged: 2018-01-21 09:43:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,556
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1546292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There was a time where Otacon was sure that love came in the form of watercolor bruises, that all kisses came with teeth, and pillow talk was always laced with thinly-veiled threats.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tutorial: How to Paint Your Lover

**Author's Note:**

> !!!!!!!! THIS IS NOT A HAPPY FIC THIS FIC CONTAINS NON-CON AND ABUSE. PLEASE BE AWARE OF THAT BEFORE CONTINUING !!!!!!!
> 
> Inspired by [apathys_whore](http://archiveofourown.org/users/apathys_whore/pseuds/apathys_whore)s request for liquid/otacon

Royal purples, flushed deeply into blues, edges tinged and tipped with yellows. The colors mix and swirl in nauseating patches, carelessly brushed against a canvas of pale skin. Blossoming on wrists, under carefully pulled sleeves; painted across thighs in streaks, easier to hide. Shaking, pale fingers trace the edges, pulling flowers and dreamy cloud shapes out of the scene draped across thin arms and a bony chest. 

The canvas inspects them in a mirror, pushing hair in need of a wash away from his neck, where the bruises form in half-moons, teeth imprints creating a thick chain. The marks felt as heavy as steel, weighing Otacon down in the chilly, threadbare bathroom. Goosebumps spread across the field of decaying flowers, which bloomed from his knees to his throat, painted onto his skin in layers and layers over weeks. That's how watercolors work, Otacon knows. Julie, his stepmother, painted. He watched her apply layer after layer, the weak colors slowly darkening to bring her paintings to a sickly, unsettling life.

The bathroom, the room beyond, and the empty Alaskan base that encased them all, looked like a thing of nightmares. Everything looked dirty, bleak, and uninviting. Sharp footsteps echo through empty halls, sending chills up the engineer's spine, leaving him freezing despite the heavy white coat he lived in. It didn't matter how many layers he donned, the people around the base had attitudes to match the weather, and every interaction made him feel stripped in the biting wind.

The layers never lasted long, anyway, and he was good as naked the moment the man of his dreams walked into the room. That's what he called himself, at least. Harsh whispers spat out in the darkness, _“I'm everything you've ever dreamed of.”_ The statement turned his stomach, and he closed his eyes only to open them back up immediately upon Liquid's demand. 

Liquid's demand. Demands. Constant, random, generally ill-timed and inconveniencing. It started early in the development on Metal Gear Rex, when Otacon was bent over intricate plans spread over a desk. The base was quiet, each ripple of paper and scratch of pen against spreadsheets a thousand times louder the empty room. Otacon worked best in the early hours of the morning, when his anxiety had calmed and the ideas poured out of him in an endless stream. The few regular, overnight guards made Otacon used to heavy footsteps occasionally passing the door, and able to tune them out. He wasn't used to the sound of the door opening, but the soft screech of metal still wasn't enough to pull him away from the work he so desperately lost himself in.

He was looking straight into Liquid's eyes before the pain registered, and it took a moment longer to realize exactly _why_ he was looking straight up into the mercenary's face. Liquid had a firm handful of Otacon's hair, and had pulled the scientist's head back sharply, other hand planted firmly on the table as he leaned over the significantly smaller man. 

Otacon winced as Liquid's grip tightened, prompting a gross smirk from the blond man before he crushed their mouths together. Eager teeth split the engineer's lip, the first of many marks left by the soldier.

Whenever the blond soldier entered the room, there were no more layers to hide under. Otacon couldn't bury himself away from the cold hands that so roughly sought out his skin, persistent nails applying a thin layer of red over thicker layers of purples and blues. His hands were long and soft, taken care of, the calluses faded for lack of recent real use, so unlike David's. 

_How could they be related?_ Otacon would ask himself this question hundreds of times, after the colors had been long washed from his skin, where they would never replicate. David did not have painter's hands, and they constantly failed to produce the brilliant colors that his brother so easily did.

Liquid, who pushed and grabbed where Solid would one day gently kiss, and who stopped when Otacon flinched away. He waited where Liquid was impatient, who would throw fits when Otacon asked to slow down, or to stop.

Otacon wasn't stupid enough to believe Liquid loved him, but in the cold lonely months in Alaska, he found it easier to give in to the idea of another warm body than to push it away. It was good, at first, Otacon supposed. His skin blossomed in light red patches and the occasional darker handprint. Liquid responded to his whispered requests of _slower_ and _wait_ , and even slept in Otacon's bed when the mood suited him.

It happened this way for a few weeks into their relationship, until the handprints turned to flowers of black, blue, and purple. Edges tinged with yellow. The change happened slowly, and Otacon let himself believe last time was the last time, next time he won't be so angry. Next time he won't be mad about this or that, next time _I will calm him down. I'll make him happy._

_The last time it happened, Otacon was ill prepared: in a relatively good mood, since the last phase of building Metal Gear Rex had reached completion. The monster was ready to breathe. He was carefully folding the plans to tuck into a specific part of a filing cabinet marked “MG-R: COMPETED SECTIONS” that was kept in his room. The plans were composed of four large sheets that were spread across his bed, all completely covered in diagrams, charts, and copious notes on the main compartment of Rex, the most complicated piece of the machine. Otacon was holding the successfully-folded fifth sheet and was proudly gazing at his accomplishments when his bedroom door was kicked in._

_Otacon turned sharply, confusion and deeply-set anxiety spiking at the sight of his lover. Liquid kicked the door shut and closed the distance between, heavy combat boots snapping loudly against the floor. His anger was immediately obvious, filling the room with a thick, heavy tension. He pulled the folded sheet out of Otacon's hands, tossing it to the side as he placed his other hand on the scientist's chest to firmly pushed him backwards. Otacon's knees buckled and he fell onto his bed, gasping in horror at the sharp sound of the thin spreadsheets being torn under his weight._

_He immediately brought his arm up to push against Liquid, who had already climbed on top of him, reaching to grab the sheets before they were damaged worse. The obvious rejection burned through Liquid, who snarled and grabbed Otacon's lifted arm to yank him sharply to the side, rolling the otaku onto his stomach. He twisted the pale wrist to pin it against the scientist's back, while the smaller man, stunned, focused on the smudged words close to his face. While Liquid wrestled his pants to his knees, he brushed the shaking fingers of his free hand over the torn sheets. His torn sheets, his accomplishments._

_Tears sprung into his eyes as he felt Liquid enter him, and he gasped in pain. They'd been together that morning, but he still required preparation, and Liquid had used lubricant then. Something that was clearly not an option here. Otacon felt Liquid position himself better, heard the horrible tearing of his spreadsheets, and tried to ignore the unpleasant burning sensation as the blond soldier's pace increased, one of his hands winding into Otacon's hair and smashing his face into the torn papers._

_“Say you love me,” the soldier demanded, voice tense and harsh._

_“Wh-”_

_“ _Tell me I'm the best thing you've ever had.”__

_Otacon stuttered, baffled at the demand. Liquid nearly never spoke during sex, and he definitely never asked for any sort of validation. The bigger man's ego needed no stroking, until now, it seemed._

_Otacon stammered out false declarations of love and confirmations until Liquid seemed to tire of that, and moved his hand to wrap around the engineer's neck and squeezed until the only sounds emerging from his throat were shaky gasps._

_Liquid bit sharply into Otacon's neck, hard enough to pull blood from the already-bruised area. He came abruptly, stilling over the smaller man and squeezing his neck so tightly Otacon thought he'd never breathe again. And then he was able to, and he was alone moments later._

_The scientist raised himself on shaky arms, tears spilling off the lenses of his glasses to collect on the torn papers. He couldn't find one page that wasn't destroyed. Worthless._

_He crawled to the edge of the bed slowly and stepped out of his pants, wincing as he limped to the bathroom to clean the blood from his neck and the cum dripping down his leg. He pulled the stained turtleneck off of himself and added it to the pile on the floor, flicking on the harsh, bright light of the threadbare bathroom._

_There was a time where Otacon was sure that love came in the form of watercolor bruises, that all kisses came with teeth, and pillow talk was always laced with thinly-veiled threats. There was a time when Otacon stood in an empty bathroom, naked, and wondered why he didn't like the beautiful paintings he saw._

_That time was precisely six hours and twenty-four minutes before he would be pulled out of a locker by the man who would teach him the exact opposite._


End file.
